


in a twisted way i don't mind it; i like what you do

by Zoadgo



Series: Kinktober 2018 [5]
Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Guilt, Light electrostim, Masochism, Masturbation, Paddling, Sadism, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: When Pree had told D’avin about Fairuza, he hadn’t even entertained the concept in the slightest, no matter how much the bartender insisted a session with her would do him a world of good. He’d laughed it off and gone about the business of war, because wasn’t there always some kind of war, with him? Army, Killjoys, Dutch, Johnny… It’s always violence, and he always has to do the hard parts. Not the thinking, not the politics, but the nitty gritty, teeth in the dirt, soldier work. And sometimes, the sending people to die work of a General too.That’s really what gets to him, and in the end, he’s pretty sure that’s how he ended up here, with a tiny girl who’s all pale skin, black leather, and haughty confidence ushering him towards a mildly frightening bed. The guilt, the sleepless nights, and the willingness to do anything to take the edge off, even if it means Pree is right.





	in a twisted way i don't mind it; i like what you do

**Author's Note:**

> [title song](https://open.spotify.com/track/3RMdCtgwka2jv4TvDf1kb4?si=xNSWKx1GR1S9JgWc6lk_OQ)
> 
> Okay, I just love D'avin so much and I had to do something for today's prompt of **Sadism/Masochism and it felt right!**

When Pree had told D’avin about Fairuza, he hadn’t even entertained the concept in the slightest, no matter how much the bartender insisted a session with her would do him a world of good. He’d laughed it off and gone about the business of war, because wasn’t there always some kind of war, with him? Army, Killjoys, Dutch, Johnny… It’s always violence, and he always has to do the hard parts. Not the thinking, not the politics, but the nitty gritty, teeth in the dirt, soldier work. And sometimes, the sending people to die work of a General too.

That’s really what gets to him, and in the end, he’s pretty sure that’s how he ended up here, with a tiny girl who’s all pale skin, black leather, and haughty confidence ushering him towards a mildly frightening bed. The guilt, the sleepless nights, and the willingness to do anything to take the edge off, even if it means Pree is right.

“So, do we do introductions, or…?” D’avin asks with a lopsided smile as Fairuza looks him up and down, much as one would while inspecting a slab of meat. Cold. Clinical. Everything D’avin has to be sometimes, and really, _really_ isn’t.

“You can call me Mistress. Your name doesn’t matter. Now sit down.”

It was silly of him to ask, really, because of course they both know each other’s names already. It’s not like he hadn’t booked this appointment. It still feels weird for her to dismiss his name so simply, and seemingly dismiss him as a person in the process. He supposes maybe that’s part of the whole thing. But he’s not sure, he’s entirely out of his depth here, and that’s not a way he’s really all that accustomed to feeling.

Evidently, D’avin takes too long to obey. Fairuza reaches out and cups his jaw, slender fingers curling up, base of her thumb resting lightly against the side of his windpipe. D’avin holds still, holding her eyes, tense through and through. His vague attempt at being casual only seconds ago seems so ridiculous. It’s something in the air about her, the way she holds herself; a part of D’avin buried deep down reacts to it instinctively.

“Sit down.” It's a simple command, but something in D’avin resists it anyway. Which is ridiculous, because he's the one who came to her and asked for this, but what can he say. Being a stubborn ass is a hard habit to kick.

Her trip tightens, just shy of being painful. D'avin breathes shallow against the slight punishment, and he sits. With that action, that surrender, something tight like an elastic band inside of him relaxes. He breathes out shakily, and Fairuza smiles, predatory and pointed.

“Good boy.” Her words have more of an effect on D’avin than he’d care to admit. How long has it been since someone told him he was good? “From here on out, if you need me to stop for any reason, you say ‘red’. Do you understand?” At D’avin’s assent, she nods shortly. “Now that we're being more cooperative, why don't you tell me why you're really here.”

“The same reason as anyone else, I guess?” D’avin shrugs as Fairuza crosses her arms, looking down at him impassively. He can somehow feel he’s given the wrong answer, without knowing it.

“And what do you think that reason is?” Her tone is just this side of patronizing, further reducing him in regards to her. On the one hand it rubs him wrong, but on the other it makes her seem much grander, and her being so clearly in control gives D’avin a modicum of relief he hadn’t fully expected.

“Uh…” D’avin’s gaze slides significantly to the rack of whips and chains on her wall, before returning to her face, “to get hurt?”

“See, most people who come in here wouldn’t say that with a question mark at the end. You’re different. You haven’t even looked at my tits once.” She curves one perfect eyebrow with that, inquisitive.

“I’m a gentleman?” D’avin tries. Fairuza’s arms remain crossed and her expression cold, which makes D’avin feel once more like he’s given the wrong answer. 

“Gentleman or no, ninety percent of the people who walk through these doors view me as nothing more than a jumped up sexer. Even when I’m beating them, they view me as their property. You haven’t once looked at me as an object. Which means you’re not here because you want a pretty girl to hit you and call you names. I need to know why you’re really here, if I’m going to be able to do anything for you,” Fairuza explains, and D’avin can’t help but wonder how different he is if she can read all of that out of their limited interactions. Or are others really that greedy, looking at her like something they own just because they’re paying her? D’avin knows better than anyone that paying someone doesn’t mean you own anything of them other than their service.

“It’s-” D’avin starts, but he stops himself. He wants to give her the right answer, so he thinks it through. He’d known what he was getting into, in some part, so why did he think this would help at all? He figures some of it out, and speaks around uncomfortable memories with a small frown. “You see, there was this Scarback. Alvis. He taught me some stuff. Not as much as I could have learned, but I was stubborn and I didn’t listen and now- Well, now it’s too late. But he showed me some of how pain can change things.”

“You want absolution? Go become a monk, I don’t have any forgiveness here.” Fairuza’s eyes flash at mention of the Scarback’s, and D’avin shakes his head.

“No, that’s not what I- Listen, I’ve done things. Bad things. Everyone tells me they were for good reasons, and I had no other choice. Hells, I tell myself that every night to get to sleep. But the truth is I-” D’avin breathes in and drops his gaze to his hands, clasped in his lap. If he tries hard enough, he can forget about the blood he’s stained them with, but he doesn’t know how that’s right. “I think I need to be punished for it all. I need some pain, or something, to balance the scales.”

“I can work with punishment.” Fairuza finally moves, uncrossing her arms. D’avin slumps a little with his admission, looking back up at her as she turns away. She drags her fingertips lightly over a rack of whips. “So you say you had no other choice, hm? Well, you truly have no choice now, not until I’m done with you. Everything that happens in here is my call, you get no say. Understand?”

It’s a frightening concept, and unsettles something within him. Paying her in order to have her walk all over him? It’s not a situation he ever thought he would be in, let alone seek out. But that part of him that is shaken by it is also what tells him to just have a shot of hok and ignore it all, which is exactly what he wants not to do. What he’s done too many nights already.

“...Yes.” D’avin weighs the word as he says it, feels the importance of it in his chest. Fairuza stops with her hand on a shiny wooden paddle, craning her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

“Yes what?”

He knows the word she’s looking for, and he knows there really is no going back if he says it. But he’s come this far already, and he won’t back down now.

“Yes, Mistress.” The title tingles along his spine, and Fairuza nods solemnly at it, shifting from the wooden paddle to a kinder looking leather one. Another right answer, then, D’avin wonders if he can keep it up. Granted, there might not be many more questions now that the formalities are out of the way.

“Take off your shirt, pants, and shoes. Underwear on,” Fairuza orders, tone brooking no argument, and D’avin does as she asks. The act of stripping down doesn’t unsettle him until he’s standing there in front of Fairuza, holding his clothes and awkwardly waiting for her next command. But she seems more than content to watch him squirm more with every passing moment. D’avin swallows awkwardly and tries his best not to fidget, his skin feeling odd and itchy under her scrutiny. He’s not sure if he’s somehow done something wrong, or-

“Put your clothes down.” Fairuza finally takes pity on him, and D’avin almost sighs in relief, hurrying to obey. “Now get on the bed. Hands and knees, ass in the air.”

D’avin wants to make some snarky comment, but more than that, he somehow really wants to do what she says. And since that’s what he’s paying good joy for, he goes with that instead and doesn’t question it. He props himself up, position slightly awkward but not that uncomfortable, clasping his wrists in front of him. Nothing happens immediately, once again, and D’avin breathes deep and slow to manage his nerves. It seems to be Fairuza’s preferred way of putting one on edge, simply making them wait. Well, it works damn well with D’avin; he almost jumps when Fairuza touches him without warning, running her hand firmly over his cloth covered ass.

The bed compresses as she kneels next to him, and if D’avin hangs his head he can see her knees denting the sheets, the paddle she had selected sitting next to her. The hand on his ass runs up onto his back, and before he can question that, her other hand comes down on his rear. Not as hard as he’d feared, but certainly harder than he’d been prepared for. A puff of breath leaves D’avin in shock at the impact.

It didn’t really hurt through the cloth of his boxers, but Fairuza sets rapidly about changing that. She gives him no respite, raining firm blows with her open hand across his buttocks, and seeming to strike harder each subsequent time. The sensation builds to something sore, and then to something definitely like a low level pain. Not anything approaching D’avin’s limit, but recognizable.

This is uncomfortable more than anything, and it sets off some sort of itchy response within D’avin. He’d been hoping for something- well, he’s not sure what, but something more, maybe. Just as he begins down that train of thought, Fairuza startles him once more, pulling on the waistband of his boxers. Occupied in his own thoughts as he was, D’avin moves on instinct to stop her, and gets his hand smacked.

_Hard._

Far harder than she’d been spanking him, which drives home to D’avin that it must simply have been a warmup.

“You don’t move unless I tell you to,” Fairuza hisses, and D’avin returns his hand to its position, holding himself up.

“Yes, sorry, Mistress.” It’s weird how the word doesn’t feel so weird even on the second use of it. And how it doesn’t feel all that wrong to apologize for something so ridiculous.

“You will be,” Fairuza promises, and she resumes pulling his boxers down. She only tugs at the waistband at the back, exposing his buttocks to the air, which somehow feels a little more embarrassing to D’avin than if she had taken them off entirely. 

Her next strike is against his bare skin, and D’avin gasps in a breath at it. Okay, well, he had been hoping for something more, and that was absolutely more. She hits him again, and again, and again, and D’avin finds his heart racing, his breath hitching with each blow. His ass is on fire, and some of that heat seeps into him in a strange way. It spreads through his chest, to his head, and makes his mind a little fuzzy. It’s not bad, though, just different than anything he’s used to.

There’s a pause in the blows, and D’avin blinks, dropping his head to look at what bit of Fairuza he can see. He can’t see much, but he does realize that the paddle is gone from the bed next to her. He notices this in the second before it connects with his ass, the resounding thwack loud in the relative silence of the room, echoing in his head. It drives an actual grunt from him, and Fairuza chuckles.

“Sorry now?” She asks, hitting him again. The paddle falls slower than her hand had, but the force of it is so much more unyielding.

“Yes Mistress,” D’avin gasps, pain lancing through him and only adding to that fuzzy feeling in his head. It curls within his core as well, and D’avin knows in some distant part of his mind he’s hard. But that is so, so much less important than everything else happening.

“Say you’re sorry,” Fairuza demands with another blow.

“I’m sorry.” The words are gritted through teeth against the pain, and Fairuza digs the nails of the hand on his back into his shoulder. Normally that wouldn’t feel like that much, but under the onslaught of sensation his body is experiencing, it feels like talons ripping into the core of him.

“Not just to me. Say you’re sorry for everything. Everything you’ve done.” It’s another command, and one that’s harder. Because it makes D’avin think of all of his sins, even around the growing white heat within his mind. But he doesn’t have it in him to resist, especially not when another solid smack rings through the room.

“I’m sorry. Hells, I’m so sorry.” He practically sobs the words, deep emotion rippling through him, mingling with the pain within him in some dark mixture that burns, but leaves cleansed tissue in its wake. It’s old sorrow, anger, rage, guilt; everything he’s not allowed to feel, because he has to be strong, and stubborn, and solid. 

Except here, she doesn’t want that. She wants him weak, pliant, and choking on the words she demands of him.

Fairuza lays aside the paddle and runs her hands smoothly over his rear, the skin tingling intensely. She pats him gently, and even that makes him startle slightly. Gods, D’avin doesn’t even want to consider what it’s going to be like sitting in the shuttle to go home. He winces a little at the thought of it, before Fairuza draws his attention back by standing.

He can hear her boots click as she crosses the room back to the wall. He can’t be sure what she selects, only hears something slide as she picks it up. He wants to look, but he’s already been punished once for moving without permission, and he wants to do the right thing. He aches for it, deep inside where that heat is curling.

“Deep breath,” Fairuza whispers, as way of warning, and D’avin heeds her advice. He expects another paddle or whip of some sort and is entirely unprepared for the tiny little explosion that goes off on the back of his shoulder. 

He grunts and his shoulders fall forward onto the bed, mostly from surprise, his brain not quite able to process what the sensation was, other than startling and painful. He scrambles to get back into position, before Fairuza has to correct him, and another sensation explodes against his side. This time he’s slightly less startled, although his body still does involuntarily twitch away from it, and he hears the sparkling crack that accompanies the sensation.

He figures it out on the next one, on the back of his thigh. It must be some form of an electric shock, not dissimilar to stun rounds but way, way lower. It’s different than the beating, so much more intense in the moment, blinding bright pain that quickly subsides. D’avin grunts and gasps at each shock, and each one drives a little more of that darkness out of him. It hurts, a lot, and it’s somehow exactly what he needed.

The sparks stop for a moment, and D’avin takes advantage of it to close his eyes and catch his breath.

“You're doing good.” Fairuza runs her thumb up the base of his spine with the words. 

D'avin almost sobs, a deep shudder wracking through his body at the praise and the gentle touch. It's a brief break between bouts of pain, but it does a world of good for his head. He's not awful, not irredeemable. At least right now, crumbling under her adamantite grip, D'avin is _good._

When the shocks start again, D’avin’s eyes remain closed and he gives himself entirely over to the strange feeling brewing within him. The pain stops being quite so painful, instead it’s flashes of brightness in the fuzzy light filling him. It’s not anything he would have called pleasure at any other point in his life, but right now, he thinks maybe it might be. It’s overwhelming, and entirely out of his control.

D’avin thinks he maybe cries, at some point, but Fairuza doesn’t comment, or stop. And if he does, well, he’s pretty sure he needed it. Needed some release other than that found in the bottom of a bottle of hok or one of Pree’s sexers. All he knows is that by the time Fairuza stops and walks away once again, he feels a million times lighter.

“Sit on the edge of the bed.” 

D’avin hurries to obey, his elbows creaking somewhat, giving tell to how long he had been holding that pose. When his sore bottom hits the sheets, soft as they are, he hisses involuntarily. He looks up at Fairuza expectantly, and is somehow not at all surprised to see she looks just as cold and impassive as ever.

“Touch yourself.” This order sounds the same as every other one she’s given him, but D’avin hesitates, breath puffing past his lips in gentle pants. He’s hard, there’s no denying that, but he hadn’t thought he was here for any form of sex. Like she pointed out, Fairuza isn’t a typical sexer. 

He waits a second too long, and Fairuza presses her knee between his legs, not on his erection, but in the crook of his hip. In his sensitive state, as she grinds her knee in cruelly, it’s hard to tell the difference. D’avin whimpers, and she lifts her leg.

“I gave you an order.” Her voice is cold steel, and D’avin nods.

“Yeah- yes, Mistress.”

He can’t bring himself to look at her, so he drops his gaze to her boots as he slides his boxers down, erection springing free. She doesn’t turn away or even shift in the slightest, watching him so intently D’avin can feel her gaze. He blushes, which he finds hilarious on some level, given all she’d just done to him. But this is different, this doesn’t feel like punishment, no matter how embarrassed he may be.

D’avin grips himself at his base and pumps himself slowly, the first few strokes dry before his precome slicks the way. He’d definitely have needed to do this before heading home, but he’d figured on tracking down a bathroom or perhaps a more conventional sexer, no matter how much that might make his bank account cry. 

His breath comes past his lips in soft little puffs as he jerks himself off under Fairuza’s supervision. It’s different than when he normally touches himself, and he finds himself wondering what he’s permitted to do. Should he put on more of a show, go slower, faster? Does she even want him to come, or is this another form of control over him?

Before he can become lost in his own thoughts, Fairuza interrupts them, speaking once more, “Good boy. You’ve done everything I asked of you, so now I want you to come for me. Five strokes, count them for me.”

D’avin breathes heavy with relief, knowing he’s not messing up and knowing what she wants. He licks his lips and nods, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation of his hand. It’s not hard, his entire body seems so much more sensitive given the particular attentions it’s been receiving. If she’d asked him to finish in two strokes, he’s pretty sure he could have, and not in the least because he’s so intently keyed into following her orders.

“One,” D’avin counts as he pumps his fist, up and down. He can still feel her eyes hot on him, and it sends sparks racing under his skin.

“Two.” D’avin swallows thickly as he moves his hand. Embarrassment leaves him as pleasure builds, and he opens his eyes a little. Still not looking up at Fairuza, but watching her boots.

“Three.” He catches a breath, twisting his wrist and resisting the temptation to bucks his hips into his own touch.

“Four.” D’avin bites his lip, his orgasm so damn close, and he can’t help but look up at Fairuza through his lashes. She’s looking at him with such a naked, dark hunger that he barely makes it through his next and final stroke.

“F-five,” D’avin gasps it out and climaxes, eyes squeezing shut and tears stinging at the corners of them. It’s far more than the pleasure of touching himself or the relief of coming, hot and sticky over his own hand. It’s the culmination of everything that’s happened, and it’s a release of tension so profound it chokes him for a moment.

He struggles to catch his breath as his climax ebbs, feeling no shame over the few tears that trail down his cheeks. He simply gathers himself, pulls himself back from the intensity of the experience, vaguely noticing a peculiar sensation between his legs. His eyes flutter open and he reconnects with his body some to realize it’s Fairuza, cleaning him up with the most ridiculously soft cloth he’s ever felt. She wipes him down gently, pulls his boxers back up, even takes care to clean his hand and each finger individually.

When she’s done with cleaning up his come, which D’avin had not expect but deeply appreciates, she produces a handkerchief from her pocket and even more delicately dabs the tears from his cheeks. D’avin relaxes into the touch, feeling boneless and entirely at peace. The care settles something that had been somewhat rattled loose in him, and D’avin breathes deep and strong, remembering who he really is for the first time in too long. 

“There,” Fairuza states, turning his face in her hands to inspect her work. When she’s done, she steps back and offers a hand to D’avin, to help him to his feet. Out of the role of subservient, back into the role of person. He takes it, without reluctance or regret. So maybe Pree had been right.

“Is it too weird to say thank you for that?” D’avin asks, and Fairuza smiles, not predatory, but almost kind.

“You’re welcome, D’avin.” Her use of his name isn’t lost on him, and D’avin simply nods and grins in response as she leads him to the door.

He stands a little taller as it closes behind him, despite the pain in his rear and back. That would fade, but what Fairuza had given him, well, he’s certain that will last a bit longer. Okay, yeah, Pree was definitely right, and there’s no way he’ll ever let D’avin live this down. But maybe D’avin’s okay with that, as he hasn’t been okay with anything in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank my beta Etra enough for editing these all, she's incredible especially given I wrote like five stories in two days to try and prep for this month. Please keep her in your prayers, given what trash I send her lol
> 
> [tumblr](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com)


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